


Battle Scars

by silentexplorer18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry Potter, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Draco Malfoy, M/M, Model Draco Malfoy, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentexplorer18/pseuds/silentexplorer18
Summary: But imagine:Draco - insecure about his body, about the scars both he and Potter placed on his skin, about the way he sees a reflection of Lucius in every mirror he gazes into, insecure of how it feels like his body is no longer his own, attempting to conquer that part of his mind - signing up to be a model for an art class.And Harry - reeling from the deaths of so many innocent people, unsettled from his own death, attempting to find some way to cope with the pain and brutality of his mind when the world becomes stagnant, warless around him - signing up for an art therapy course.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 203





	Battle Scars

But imagine:

Draco - insecure about his body, about the scars both he and Potter placed on his skin, about the way he sees a reflection of Lucius in every mirror he gazes into, insecure of how it feels like his body is no longer his own, attempting to conquer that part of his mind - signing up to be a model for an art class.

And Harry - reeling from the deaths of so many innocent people, unsettled from his own death, attempting to find some way to cope with the pain and brutality of his mind when the world becomes stagnant, warless around him - signing up for an art therapy course.

He finds a small class in London, something more private since his life is so often on display nowadays, and uses the paint to find the parts of himself that he’d lost. And, honestly, his creations aren’t too bad. He’s always been more tactile, prone to focusing intently, and the opportunity to get lost amongst the hues, the delicate curls of a snitch’s wing, the haunting eyes of a thestral, is something he can now take for granted. He lavishes in the textures, the patterns, the simple things he can now take a moment to appreciate since the urgency of life has dissipated. On morning walks, he now stops to admire the texture of brick buildings, the flutter of petals across his neighbor’s sidewalk, the elegance of rust on a fence. He finds art everywhere.

Now that his life isn’t on the line, the world is monumentally beautiful, even down to the little details.

The painting is helping.

But not everything can work out smoothly.

Harry tries his best to hide the look of distaste, of alarm, smearing across his face as Draco Malfoy walks into the room, poises on a stool. He’s shirtless, and quite a bit thinner than Harry remembers, with faint scars crisscrossing up his torso, lacing his skin with memories of the past.

When Draco notices Harry, he blanches, eyes widening in horror at running into Potter of all people. But he doesn’t flee even though he could.

Instead he sits on the stool, quiet and dignified, with the faintest of blushes coloring each cheek.

And Harry paints him.

At first the thought of staring at Draco, _inspecting_ Draco, seems all too horrific for Harry to consider, but he realizes that they must both need this if they’re here. Merlin knows Harry needs to keep his mind focused on something. Perhaps this is Draco’s way of coping, too.

So with a shaking hand, Harry mixes his paints, pale ivory swirling onto his palette, and begins to replicate Malfoy’s figure.

This continues for a few days, the blond poised on a chair quietly while the few wizards in the class attempt to recreate him on their canvases. And although initially Harry thinks Draco looks comfortable, self assured up there on the pedestal, he quickly realizes that the boy isn’t so comfortable up there afterall.

Each time someone comments on his body, an angle or a proportion, Harry notices Draco shift. It’s only slightly, but it’s still noticeable. His eyes narrow a nearly imperceptible amount whenever someone queries how to paint his scars, especially the ragged pink one swirling up his forearm. He seems tired, Harry realizes, and no longer comfortable in his own skin. All too often, red slashes his cheeks and a pained expression monumentally similar to shame flashes across his face.

Harry doesn’t like Draco looking like that.

Really and truly, he didn’t mean to do anything about it. The words slipped from his mouth one day after class before his brain could register what he was doing. “Those trousers look nice on you, Malfoy.”

They both seem equally blindsided by the statement, but that doesn’t make the words any less true. “Thank you.” The phrase is awkward, unsure as it falls from Draco’s lips. It’s all that’s said before Harry walks out the door, but when he sees Draco walking out a little later, hands in his trouser pockets, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, Harry knows it isn’t the last time he’s going to compliment Draco.

Next it’s how nice his collarbones look in that thin grey shirt. And how his hair, now long and needle straight, always pristine, looks elegant in a bun. Before he knows what’s become of him, he’s informing Draco that his eyes are the most beautiful shade of smoke he’s ever seen, and the shape of his body is absolutely perfect.

And at some point in all that, Draco’s walls have broken down, and he’s realized that Harry isn’t so much of a threat anymore. However, classes must go on and the rest of the group is in need of a fresh model, and Draco has been told that his time is up. But Harry doesn’t want it to be. And suddenly without really realizing how they both got there, Harry is closing the paint tubes in his apartment while Draco is standing before the decorative mirror Luna gave Harry as a housewarming gift all those months ago.

It’s not so much that he hates the scars, but that he hates _everything_ about the way he looks and Harry has been disarming him with the most bizarre compliments.

_“Your lips are the most beautiful hue.”_

_“Stay right there, you look like you’re glowing in that light.”_

_“It’s really unfair how fit your figure is.”_

_“Your eyes are stunning.”_

And Harry’s voice is breaking through the thoughts whirring in his head. “Draco, are you okay?” Because it’s _Draco_ now. He’s no longer a pompous, disgusting _Malfoy_ to Harry, but _Draco_. _Draco_ with scarred skin and dark eyes more haunting than any thestral. _Draco_ , the boy so terrified of who he’s become that he’s staring at himself in Harry’s mirror wishing he could understand what Harry sees in him.

“I feel like a piece of chipped porcelain,” he mutters, fingertips whispering across the scars on his sternum. His arm is still pink, the hue of healing skin, but the sectumsempra wounds have faded pale, barely noticeable but always there. “I feel damaged, broken. Nobody will want me like this.” The words are hoarse, his deepest fears surfacing in the mirror as he stumbles over thoughts and attempts to prevent his eyes from watering.

And Harry doesn’t know what to say other than, “Any girl would be lucky to have you.” He sets down the remainder of his painting supplies, studying Draco cautiously as though he’s afraid Draco will vanish in an instant.

“But what if I don’t _want_ a girl?” His tone is even more gravelly than before, a pained resignation, an admittance of what he wants. And he still can’t seem to turn around, to look Harry in the eye and have this conversation with him.

That doesn’t seem to matter though because Harry’s already standing, hands pressing gently against Draco’s hips as his words ghost over his pale shoulder, steady gaze coming to meet Draco’s watery eyes in the reflection. “ _Anyone_ would be lucky to have you. You’re incredible, Draco, really.”

And Draco’s whirled around in Harry’s arms and suddenly they’re both clinging to each other as the blond boy cries into Harry’s shoulder, apologies and promises falling off his tongue amongst broken sobs, and Harry realizes that he’s crying, too. Because both boys needed this. Draco needed Harry to see that he was worth more than just his past, just his family name, and Harry needed Draco to see that there was beauty in people, too, not just the world he’d been trying to come to terms with.

When Draco’s cries come to an end, Harry is stroking soothing patterns on his back and reminding him of his worth. “You’re so brilliant and handsome and brave, Draco. You’re so strong and incredible. You’re _not_ a Malfoy. You’re _not_ a broken piece of china. You’re _Draco_. And Draco is amazing.”

And through his sniffles and the remarkably undignified noises he’s making, the remarkably _human_ noises coming from his snot slicked lips, Draco is reminding Harry that it wasn’t his fault that the war happened or that people were lost. That Harry did so many incredible things. And how he’s so sorry for everything Harry had to go through just to help everyone.

They’re both just two broken boys trying to find themselves in a world they weren’t prepared for, a world where they’re both free. And maybe that’s okay.

Eventually they’re spending all their time together, and they’re getting a flat together to help each other with the nightmares and the guilt and the regret and Draco is taking Harry’s hand and leading him to try new adventures, to reconcile with the fact that life will go on, and Harry is covering the house in paintings of Draco, little sketches of the boy with notes of how handsome and brave he is and how _lucky_ Harry is to have found him after the war.

And maybe together they’ll both be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
